


PROVERBS

by lothering



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anglicanism, Christianity, Fleurentia Mini Bang 2020, LGBT affirming religion, Light Angst, M/M, Naughty boyfriends breaking seminary dorm curfew, Ordination, Religion, Skinny Dipping, priest!ignis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lothering/pseuds/lothering
Summary: A series of vignettes showcasing Ravus and Ignis' relationship: from seminary school to the pulpit, and to the misadventures beyond.Aka: Priest!Ignis and church-husband!Ravus give a big ol' "feck off" to heteronormative Christianity, because the Church is so much better than the few foul shits who give it a bad rap.
Relationships: Ravus Nox Fleuret/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	PROVERBS

**Author's Note:**

> A few brief notes here before we jump into it:  
> 1) I'm trans  
> 2) I'm gay  
> And 3) I'm Anglican.
> 
> All of these intersect in my daily life, and make me who I am. Sadly, I rarely ever see any fanfics with priest characters that are more than fetishes. Not to say I haven't perused those fics as well (and hoo, do they get spicy~), but i figured it was about time for a more general, faithful representation of a clergyperson.
> 
> As a general note: the greater majority of western Anglicanism/Episcopalianism is supportive of the queer community. There is still work that needs to be done, however, and this lil fic is kind of my attempt at normalizing being a queer person of faith. Because it IS normal, and it's really shitty to catch hell not just from conservative Christians for being queer, but also from the queer community for being Christian.
> 
> Anyhow, I point-blank confess I know very little about the ordination process beyond some light research. I hope you enjoy this fic. It's the first I've written in literal years, lol. 
> 
> Peace~

**(Ravus: 50, Ignis: 48)**

“We could get arrested for this.”

“We could - but we won’t.”

The lake water wraps around their ankles like shadowy hands, swallowing up their feet in pitch darkness. Across the waterfront, the view is much the same but for the glistening reflection of the bright moon across the rippling surface. The dock, just a few yard to their left, is barely visible in the darkness. The temptation to take a running leap off of it into the water below is strong, held in check only by the need for quiet. It is late, closing in on two thirty in the morning, but there still exists a chance that a renter from one of campgrounds down the road might fancy a very early (or late) jaunt down by the lake. The piles of clothing on the shore would be an immediate tip-off as to what the two men in the lake are planning on doing, if said interloper doesn’t catch a glance of their shining, shivering, bare asses first.

Strangely enough, Ignis finds that he doesn’t quite mind as much as he usually would. But then, Ravus’ vague ‘devil-may-care’ attitude did have a tendency of rubbing off on those around him, Ignis included. The response elicits a small smirk, and a drawled reprimand, jokingly, “Such confidence! Need you be reminded of the consequence of boastfulness, dear heart?”

At this, Ravus shakes his head in a poorly veiled attempt to hide a grin, choosing that moment to wade further into the water. The movement is startlingly loud in the eerie quiet of the night, contested faintly by crickets chirping in the distance. Ignis’ heart flutters briefly, hyperaware that any sound could result in the turning on of porch lights nearby, but nonetheless follows Ravus forward until they’re both standing waist-deep in the cooling water. A shiver runs up the younger man’s spine, diffusing out across his limbs. His dick seems to be contemplating crawling right up into his body, creating a hellish belly button clone, as the water grows colder with every step forward. 

Ignis’ silent farewell to his genitals is interrupted when Ravus draws him closer by his elbows, chest to chest, the light smattering of hair on the paler man’s pectorals scratching pleasantly upon Ignis’ hairless own. Then, a kiss, and: “This is a good look on you. A week of vacation, a splash of moonlight...and unimpeded access to  _ this _ -” 

Barely holding back a surprised yelp, Ignis feels the cold metal of Ravus’ prosthetic fingers pinch his rear sharply. “ - it’s more than any mere man could withstand.”

Ignis tsks, smacking his lover’s bare shoulder with feigned fury. “The way you flirt is shameful. Really, dear, you should be ashamed of yourself. However, now that you’ve opened the door to it…”

Ravus lurches backward unsteadily as Ignis throws himself at him bodily, arms wound tight around the taller man’s neck, legs hoisted up to latch securely around hips that never quite outgrew the bony-ness of youth. As close as close could possibly be, moist bodies press together with no distinguishable seam as Ignis pulls Ravus down into a deep kiss. Tongues entwined languidly, Ravus’ hands fall to Ignis’ rear not out of flirtation, but this time to support them both. Mentally, Ignis sends up a silent thanks for the strength of his beloved’s long, muscular legs, which hold them firm on the sandy bottom of the lake even as small waves buffet them, threatening to send them tumbling below the surface.

They continue on like this for a short while, occasionally rocking together in an unspoken attempt to hold steady in the waves. Eventually, they part with a gasp as a larger wave finally does what it’s smaller counterparts could not - sending the two flying into the dark depths of the lake. Beneath the surface, Ravus curses and takes in a mouthful of water as the motion of Ignis falling into him sends the younger man’s forehead crashing into his nose painfully. Limbs flail beneath the choppy water as the two flap and slap at each other, pushing away so they can stand back up on the sand bar. 

“Christ alive!” Ravus sputters as he manages to pull himself upright only to lean forward, hands on his knees, hacking out the twenty litres of lake water it seems that he has inhaled. Ignis, from a few yards away, makes a distressed sound and wades forward, grasping the other man’s face gently in his hands. Turns it side to side to examine the damage through the darkness, even still as Ravus coughs up a spray of water. 

“Ravus, love, I am so very sorry! There doesn’t appear to be any blood, nor a break, but are you quite alright?”

The grumpy response that Ignis expects doesn’t come. Instead, a bubble of laughter tumbles from Ravus’ lips and he pulls away from Ignis’ touch, taking gentle hands in his own with an abashed grimace.

“ ‘When pride comes, then comes disgrace; but wisdom is with the humble,’ right dear? I think I’ve quite learned my lesson.”

-*-*-*-

**(Ravus: 30, Ignis: 28)**

“Do you ever think...that it would be best if we stop this? Stop being...what we are?”

Looking up from his History of Ancient Christians text, pen tucked behind his right ear, Ignis frowns. “Whatever do you mean, Ravus?”

Rolling over at the foot of the bed to rest on his side, facing Ignis, Ravus scoffs, “You aren’t nearly as attractive when you play dumb, Ignis. You know what I mean - or are your ears so full of ecclesiastical jibber-jab that you literally did not hear a word of what I’ve said to you in the past hour?” He won’t admit to it, but he almost wishes that were the case. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he wanted to claw them back in and shove them down his throat, swallow them deep down into the pit of his stomach where they would rest with the rest of his growing unease of late.

But ah, hindsight is 20/20, and Ignis definitely isn’t stupid.

It’s with a weary sigh that Ignis sets his textbook aside, brushing the pen out from behind his ear. He scoots down the bed until his knees - legs still folded criss-cross apple sauce - are an inch away from knocking into Ravus’ chest and gut. A hand settles in Ravus’s platinum blond hair, brushing back the shoulder-length strands that have fallen into the older man’s face. 

“Of course not. What’s brought this on so suddenly, dear?”

Normally, Ravus would adore this attention. Would lean into the hand stroking gently through his hair, fingertips scratching the back of his scalp at the end of each pass. Normally, he would be comforted by Ignis’ short, blunt assurance because the man was nothing if not totally honest in such important matters. But life has been anything but normal, lately. One need only look at the calendar in their dingy kitchen, and the numerous spaces written into for such things as “spiritual direction meeting”, “parish placement interview”, or “vocation discernment consultation”. Things, lately, have suddenly become very...real.

Ravus hates it, and he hates himself for hating the upcoming culmination of Ignis’ years of hard work.

“You know how all those old cranks in the episcopate feel about people like us. Sure, they’ll let you get ordained, but they still haven’t settled on marrying us, even when the majority of people are screaming otherwise.” Irritated, Ravus jerks away from Ignis’ hand, sitting upright, “They’re going to try to force you into celibacy, Ignis. It isn’t  _ right _ .”

“Of course it isn’t. I never said it was.”

“Then how could you still want to go through with it?!”

“Because there is no biblical reason for it, firstly. And secondly, because I was called to this vocation by God.”

Ravus snorts. “And if you were called to be a tree farmer, you’d be perfectly content with that?”

A pause, then Ignis scoots even closer until he is sitting behind Ravus, back to chest. A brief kiss to Ravus’ temple as he responds, “Am I not already?”

“How do you mean?”

“The Church isn’t well, dear heart. We both know this, we both see this. We aren’t the only ones. It is so far removed from what it is meant to be that it might as well be like a tree, cast in shadow, dying for sunlight. But I can help bring this dying tree back to life. I can help inspire the rich to feed the poor, to bring the privileged out to right the injustices of the marginalized. To heal those who are sick in heart, bring comfort to those sick in body, and heal those who are sick in spirit. I can and will do all these things, and by doing so will nurture the church - the dying tree - back to full health and righteousness, for the good of all those who desire its saving grace.”

Ignis pauses to allow that thought to sink in, wrapping his arms tight around Ravus as the sinking sun shines in through their bedroom window, warming his back. Motes of dust dance around them like little faeries, whimsical and bright, then disappearing into the more shadowy parts of the room. Ignis’ hands travel down the length of his boyfriend’s arms until their fingers are laced, his hands on top of the backs of Ravus’. 

And then he whispers, “To answer your question - yes, I’ve thought about dissolving what we have. Many times, in fact, and always without pleasure. But just as I am called to this position, I feel, very deeply and very surely, that I am called to be your beloved. And you to be mine. What you say is true: those old cranks don’t want to bless our future marriage - not yet, at least. But they will one day. One day, there will be vastly more people like you and I within the laity and the clergy. One day, it won’t be uncommon to take for granted that all peoples are allowed to marry within our church. Maybe it won’t be soon, but it will happen. And I need to be part of that.

There are young people - and old people, still closeted - who need to see people like you and I in roles of leadership. Even if you never take up a position in the clergy, you will still be my husband, still be seen as a leader in your own ways. They need us both. And I will always need you.”

Resting his forehead against the back of Ravus’ head, Ignis closes his eyes.

“If you will have me, I would be honoured to be your husband. What do you say? Can we do this together?”

A lengthy silence follows. But then, just as Ignis’ heart begins to crack into a million pieces and he starts to pull away, Ravus grips his hands tightly. 

And his answer is, quietly, “Always.”

-*-*-*-

**(Ravus: 29, Ignis: 27)**

“Ravus Nox Fleuret, what in the  _ world _ do you think you are doing?!” The words, despite being heated, are nonetheless whispered into the darkness of the night. Well. More like hissed, really, as Ignis grabs the belt loops of Ravus’ jeans and yanks him in through the window where he’s been precariously dangling for the last minute. Trying, rather valiantly, to sneak into Ignis’ dorm after-hours.

At any normal college, this wouldn’t be too unusual. In fact, it would be par for course. Something that probably happens at least once a week, if not more. But this isn’t a normal college.

This is a seminary school.

After they both collapse to the floor of Ignis’ dorm, Ravus honest-to-God  _ giggling _ in the mess of tangled limbs, Ignis tenses. Waits for any sound of security footsteps outside, or the whistle of the RA as they make their round. Blessedly, none of these occur, and Ignis feels his breath gush out in a relieved sigh. After a brief scrap, the two manage to untangle their bodies and lay shoulder-to-shoulder on their backs, staring up at the stupid glow-in-the-dark stars a former tenant of the dorm had stuck on the dormroom ceiling.

“So. Would you care to tell me why my 29 year old boyfriend just scaled three stories of my dorm block, in the dead of night, in the middle of winter? When he knows full well that it is well past my curfew?”

“Would you believe me if I said it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Though it is quite out of character for you, I don’t doubt your capacity for recklessness.”

“You know me too well, it seems..”

“I’ve known you since childhood, darling. This sort of thing is already written in your playbook.”

They lay silent for a few moments, until a cold wind forces Ignis up to shut and lock the window. He draws the curtains on the image of the bare tree branch outside - knocked loose of snow and the few remaining leaves it had retained from autumn, both fallen in a pile on the sidewalk below. Given its height and the slickness of the snow, it truly was a miracle of God’s will that Ravus had not fallen and broken his damn neck.

Ignis tsk’s and turns away from the scene to find that Ravus has already divested himself of his outer layers, clothing pooled on the floor, and lies stretched out on top of his bedsheets in nothing but his boxers and an undershirt. 

Ah.

Well, that explained the after-hours visit, then.

Crossing his arms and cocking a hip, eyebrow raised, Ignis hums, “My my. It seems my boyfriend is something of a naughty daredevil. Are you here to draw me into illicit temptations? Fill me to the brim with sin?”

He’s met with a low chuckle in response. They’ve played this game of cat-and-mouse before, been through the worries of whether such wordplay was sacreligious, and proceeded to throw those thoughts out the door when they realised such worries were minutiae in the grand scheme of things. They did this around the same time that they broke away from the toxic theology of their youth, from the expectations of heteronormative marriages, and followed the path they both knew they had been called to for longer than they cared to admit.

So, Ravus’ response is no less predictable than his earlier stunt in the window: “Would you prefer it if I left you only half-full?”

What follows after these words is, likewise, familiar and comforting as such. Mouths pressed tight together, humid breaths fanning out over each other’s faces. Hands brushing off the remainder of clothing. Fingers dancing over flesh, the blossoming of ecstasy silenced behind meaty palms and bitten shoulders. Together they fall, and fall, and keep on falling headlong into their passion until they lay entwined and sated. Coated in layers of sweat and unbridled adoration of each other. A perfect example of love wrongfully diagnosed as sin.

Before they drift off, Ignis feels Ravus kiss the sweaty skin between his shoulder blades. He feels the weight of an arm anchored over his hip, drawing him back against a strong body. He knows that somewhere, someone is going into a religious fit over their continued existence, and even more so over their thriving relationship.

He closes his eyes, breathes deep - in, out, back in again - is still, and knows peace.

-*-*-*-

**(Ravus: 31, Ignis: 29)**

He wants to throw up. God, he wants to throw up so bad, but his alb is the purest white he’s ever seen in his life, and Ignis would be damned if he made his vows covered in the remains of the toast and yogurt he’d had for breakfast. His nervousness must show clearly on his green-tinged face, because Ravus is there quickly with a glass of water and a soothing hand on his back.

“Here, dear. Drink this, take a few deep breaths.” Ignis does so. Ravus takes the glass back as his husband tilts his face towards an open window and breathes deeply. From where he stands in the rector’s office, eyes slit against the sunlight pouring in through the window he faces, the younger man can see parishioners starting to pour in through the doors of the church. He’s familiar with nearly every face he sees, although there are a few here and there who must be relatives of the regulars, because their names don’t come to mind when he sees them. The little church that barely seats one hundred people is going to be full to bursting today. The nausea returns, but it isn’t as strong this time. Thank God.

Ravus’ voice draws Ignis’ attention away from the sea of congregants outside. His husband looks to be getting ready to depart, himself. His seat is already guaranteed in the foremost pews, but he’ll have to wade through countless greetings and well wishes in order to get there before the processional starts up. But first -

A warm hand and a slightly colder prosthetic one reach forward to grab Ignis’ own, squeezing them tightly. Ravus’ voice is rough with emotion when he speaks.

“I am so proud of you, Ignis. You’re nervous now, but once you go through those doors, you’re going to slot in just where you need to be. You have been called to this position, and you’ve gone through years of hell and joy to get here. I’m afraid my resentment those years ago did not make this process any easier for you, but I hope you know that I stand behind you in this and in all that you do in the future. One hundred percent.”

A gentle kiss lands on Ignis’ forehead, but as he tries to respond in kind, Ravus raises a finger to silence him. “No need, dear. I already know what you want to say.” And it’s true. Ignis has no doubt of this.

They’re running short on time, now, so Ravus goes to the door and opens it. Before he leaves, though, he looks back. “Remember: All shall be well -”

“- and all manner of things shall be well.” Ignis finishes.

\----

When the opening strains of “Guide Me, O Thou Great Redeemer” start up, Ignis feels his heart jump into his throat. The sight of the crucifer carrying the cross down the aisle of the nave eases his worry somewhat as he trails behind, the cross glistening in the sunlight pouring through the church windows, but he still carries the vague sensation that one misstep will lead to a tragic accident between the return of what he ate for breakfast and the pure white fabric of his alb. Or, more likely, the hem of the Bishop’s cope, if he’s lucky enough to hang on to his stomach contents for that long. 

Well, at least the ordination would be a memorable one if that were to happen.

_ Guide me o thou great redeemer, pilgrim through this barren land. _

_ I am weak, but thou art mighty, hold me with thy powerful hand… _

Blessedly, concentrating on the hymn brings back the so-familiar sense of calm that a Sunday service always brings him, and soon enough the procession is at the high altar. The Bishop, archdeacon and rector take their places behind the altar, which itself is bathed in glorious red fabrics embroidered with gold thread. The dark oak panels behind it contrast sharply with the majesty of the large, but simple, gold altar cross. Specs of dust dance in the sunlight pouring over the sanctuary, motes swirling around the cross in reminder: God is present. Christ has come among them.

Overwhelmed by the sight, Ignis blinks away tears as the last of the hymn fades from singing tongues, and the service begins.

_ Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit… _

The ceremony seems to fly by, and if asked about what was most memorable about it, Ignis would later only be able to recall bits and pieces of the Presentation -

_ Will you be loyal to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of Christ as this Church has received them? And will you, in accordance with the canons of this Church, obey your bishop and other ministers who may have authority over you and your work? _

_...Is it your will that Ignis Stupeo Scientia be ordained a deacon? _ _  
_ **_It is._ ** __  
_ Will you uphold him in his ministry? _ _  
_ **_We will._ **

Of the Examination -

_ My brother, do you believe that you are truly called by God and his Church to the life and work of a deacon? _

“I believe I am so called.”

_ Will you in all things seek not your glory but the glory of the Lord Christ? _

“I will.”

And of kneeling before the Bishop, tears streaming down Ignis’ cheeks, Veni Creator Spiritus pouring out of the mouths of the choir.

_ Veni Creator Spiritus,  _ **_(Come, Holy Ghost, Creator, come)_ **

_ mentes tuorum visita,  _ **_(from thy bright heav’nly throne;)_ **

_ imple superna gratia,  _ **_(come, take possession of our souls,)_ **

_ quae tu creasti, pectora.  _ **_(and them all thine own.)_ **

Much later, after preparing the bread and wine for the Lord’s table, after releasing the breath he had been holding all morning, Ignis finds his rest in a pair of familiar hands. They rest on his cheeks as the door to their apartment slips shut. They hold him steady when he feels like he might drop dead of exhaustion. They pull him closer as lips busk against the crown of his head, gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower.

Ignis breathes deep of the faded cologne that Ravus had put on that morning, leans forward, and falls into his husband’s arms. Because everything is alright. Even with the bumps in the road, the uncertainty of how to proceed as a gay couple in the church, the challenges of meeting head on those who reviled them for loving each other and for Ignis following a call to ordination - it all turned out alright.

Ignis breathes deep and wonders where this life, with this magnificent man, will take him next.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's that! To anyone struggling with their sexuality and their faith, I want you to know that you are seen and you are loved. You aren't a mistake, your sexuality, gender, gender presentation, nor any other queer aspect of your being was ever a mistake. You are who you were made to be, and if you're still in the process of discovering that for yourself, know that there are so many people just like you and you are all incredibly valid and deserving of being included in places of faith and worship. 
> 
> For future reference, you can find me on twitter @oliverwoodsy, and on tumblr at biblically-deficient.tumblr.com. I'm happy to answer questions anyone might have, but for the love of all that is good, don't be a dick. Suffice to say: TERFS, militant atheists, and ultra-conservative religious folk (although why are you browsing LITERAL GAY FICTION if you are??) need not interact. Ever.


End file.
